


Hippocleides Doesn't Care

by conniptionns



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-11
Updated: 2018-04-09
Packaged: 2019-03-30 00:56:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13939137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/conniptionns/pseuds/conniptionns
Summary: Rhetoric!major Andrew flirting with Neil





	1. Hippocleides Doesn't Care

“I’ll have you guys know, as I was walking here to pass out your exam, The Imperial March was playing in my head,” Andrew said. He was the graduate teaching assistant for Classical Rhetorical Theory. “First thing, I’m going to take roll. Not because I care if your classmates want to fuck up their GPA, but because I am contractually required to do so.”

There were a few titters in the classroom, and Andrew thought they were probably too awake for 8am. In their defense though, he was too awake for 8am. He woke up at 5, nervous because this was officially his last class with Neil Josten, and he was going to ask the man out right after he handed in his exam. Well, actually he was planning on waiting until grades were out, because he wanted to be careful, but the idea of his last class with the man had him awake and nervous long before he was willing to be up.

He got through the I’s before someone was missing. “Neil Josten?” His stomach sank. “Does anyone have Neil’s number?”

A quiet girl with pastel tips raised her hand. She was a religion major, philosophy minor and was mostly taking the class for shits and giggles because it was a rhetoric course, not a philosophy class, but she was one of Andrew’s best students.

Andrew was shocked when a scrap of paper was passed his way, and he looked down at the 10-digits, unable to make sense of the fact that he  _ got his crush’s number _ . He quickly dialed the number, saving it to his contacts. While the phone was ringing, he glanced up at the class and Renee winked at him.

“Mm, ‘lo?” a scratchy voice asked. Andrew’s stomach quivered.

“Josten,” Andrew bit out far more smoothly than he thought was possible.

“Mr. Minyard?” Neil asked, voice cracking and shooting up an octave.

“Yes, Neil. Good morning. Your classmates and I are here waiting to start the final exam, and you are where?”

“In bed,” a small voice replied.

Andrew bit his tongue.

“I can be there in three minutes.”

“Three minutes?” Andrew asked, but the phone was already dead.

“All right, while Neil runs here, can anyone tell me what  _ paideia  _ means?”

A sleepy girl, whose name Andrew never learned, replied, “The rearing of a child or education.”

“Well, yes, that is the most basic definition, but can anyone go a little more in depth? Matt?” Andrew gestured to the man raising his hand.

“Had to do with shaping Greek character, and was a concept at the center of the Greek educational genius.”

“Yes! In exact terms, It is the classical Greek system of education and training, which came to include gymnastics, grammar, rhetoric, poetry, music, mathematics, geography, natural history, astronomy and the physical sciences, history of society and ethics, and philosophy—the complete pedagogical course of study necessary to produce well-rounded, fully educated citizens.

“Now, who can tell me the five aspects of  _ paideia _ ? All must be included and brought into the unity of the concept.”

Renee raised her hand. “Civilization; Tradition; Literature; Culture; and Education.”

“Yes,” Andrew cheered. He really was such a nerd for his students learning. He wanted them to be as passionate about rhetoric as he was.

Just then, Neil burst through the door, winded and red in the face. He was haphazardly dressed and Andrew was proud to say he only lifted one cool eyebrow.

“So,  _ paideia _ is aimed, in a sense, at the creation of a higher type of man. The Greeks alone made man. By discovering man, they didn’t discover the Subjective Self, but rather the Universal Laws of Human Nature.”

Neil dropped into an empty seat and tried to quietly catch his breath. Andrew went on with his review, not telling the class that  _ Paideia _ wasn’t going to be on the final—that was too easy.

“So the principle of the Greeks is not Individualism—how it is for us today—but rather Humanism—or the Latin  _ humanitas,  _ which signifies the general learning that should be the possession of all human beings—in a Noble and Weighty sense.

“Essentially,  _ paideia _ is the process of educating man into his True Form—the Real and Genuine human nature. According to the Greeks at least. Meaning,  _ paideia  _ comes from an ideal, not an individual. Who can tell me about the Ideal Man.”

This time, it was Neil who raised his hand and Andrew internally grinned. “Go ahead, Neil.”

“The Ideal Man is the model toward which all Greek educators and poets, artists and philosophers always looked. It was this universal Ideal, this model of humanity, which all individuals were to imitate.”

“Correct.” Andrew was lit up on the inside. “Since this ideal was meant to be embodied in the community; the goal then of education was to make each person in the image of the community. We could talk about how Plato took  _ paideia  _ to the search for True Knowledge, but this is an exam, not a lecture.”

Andrew started passing out the exams, knowing that the overseeing professor made their multiple choice to be really fucking difficult, but cheesily enough, he thought that all of his students would pass, if not with As and Bs, at least some Cs.

After the last exam was passed around, Andrew spoke again. “Now remember guys, the wise, philosophical words of the man whom I try to embody the most: Hippocleides.

“His story is thus; as a young man he competed for the hand of a woman, as the Greeks often did, by the end of the competition, only Hippocleides and Megacles remained. Hippocleides got so drunk at a dinner party that he started to act the fool; at one point standing on his head and kicking his legs in the air to the flute music. When the girl’s father informed him that he had just danced away his shot at marriage; this goddamn  _ LEGEND’S _ response was ‘Hippocleides doesn’t care.

“So you take this exam and you pass or you fail, but always remember, Hippocleides doesn’t care—and didn’t care—and he’s still remembered today, so don’t stress.”

Two weeks later, after the last grade had come in, Andrew text Neil from his phone.

* * *

 

**Andrew** _   
_ This is Andrew Minyard. I was wondering if I could ask you out for coffee or dinner. I know it might weird, considering I was your GTA, but I wouldn’t bring up class. I’d like to get to know you.

**Neil**   
Sure. I’d love to get dinner.   
And about you being my GTA.   
Hippocleides doesn’t care ;)

Andrew was in love and that was that.


	2. Crying Is Okay Because Aristotle Said So

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> LET'S LEARN ABOUT KATHARSIS KIDS

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You wanted it. You got it. Now read it and comment on it.

**Andrew**

Would it be cliche to do dinner and a movie?

**Neil**

Yes

But we’re supposed to be living like Hippocleides,  
so I think we should go for it. Wbu?

**Andrew**

I can pick you up at 5?

**Neil**

5:30?

Practice ends at 5 and I don’t want  
to be an entire ball of sweat lol

**Andrew**

It can be arranged.

What movie are you thinking?

**Neil**

Well, the drive-in has The Lion King ½

**Andrew**

Is that a thing?

**Neil**

Yes.

**Andrew**

As long as it’s not the original

**Neil**

Right? That shit makes me cry

#MufasaForever

**Andrew**

Your age just betrayed you there

God, what am I getting myself into?

**Neil**

A learning experience, old man  
who is only two years older than me

Besides, crying is good for you

Not that I would know

**Andrew**

I meant the hashtag part

But you know I’m an Aristotelian

Of course, I know crying is good for you

I just haven’t done it since 1985

**Neil**

You were born in ‘88

And what does Aristotle have to do with crying?

**Andrew**

Literally the whole point

But god, did you ever pay attention in class?

**Neil**

To you

:0)

**Andrew**

I’m rolling my eyes

But do you remember On The Art of Poetry?

**Neil**

…

**Andrew**

Your silence is telling. *sigh*

I’m calling you, you little bitch

* * *

 Neil got the notification that Andrew was FaceTiming him and was laughing as he swiped to answer the call.

“You really can’t fathom the idea that I don’t know or care about the art of poetry, can you?”

“I really can’t.”

“Sit down and consider taking notes,” Andrew suggested.

Neil made a dramatic gesture of pulling out a piece of paper and a pen. He probably wasn’t going to take notes but he loved the way that it made Andrew’s hazel eyes light up. He was slightly disheveled and a glance at the clock told Neil that Andrew had probably text Neil first thing when he woke up. Neil was almost annoyed at the excited thrill that ran through him when he saw Andrew looking positively delectable, but then he remembered that they were going out on a date and maybe one day, Neil could devour him.

“On the art of poetry,” Andrew began in a dramatic fashion.

“Okay, so I’m only hitting the high notes and I would suggest reading at least a Sparknotes of _Poetics_ —”

“I’m really not going to.” Neil laughed.

“Aristotle distinguishes between the genres of poetry in three different ways: matter, subjects, and method.

“Language, rhythm, and melody make up the matter of poetic creation. Remember, that for the Greeks, and a lot of ancient societies, poetry was probably always sung. So an epic poem makes use of language alone, but the playing of the lyre involves rhythm and melody. But Greek Tragic Drama included a singing chorus, and so music and language were each a part of the performance.

“Some scholars that the translation of the ancient Greek _rhythmos_ is more of dance since melody already has its own inherent rhythm.”

Neil was almost overcome with how excited Andrew got when he started talking about the works of dead old dudes. Seeing his passions shine through was something that Neil was certain not many people got to see. It was amazing.

“Moving on to subjects. So you have the tragedy and the comedy—that’s it. I mean not really, but essentially. Each distinguishing between the nature of human characters populating either form.

“Tragedy is the story of serious, important, and virtuous people. It is a representation of serious, complete action in embellished speech, with each of its elements used separately in the various parts of the play and represented by acting, accomplishing getting the story across by means of pity, terror, and the catharsis of such emotions. While comedy is of less virtuous people and focuses on human weaknesses.

“Of course, then the last is method, which is the imitation of subjects through the use of a narrator throughout, direct speech, or actors to speak lines directly.”

Neil snorted. “I thought we were talking about catharsis and why Aristotle says it’s okay to cry. Though I am incredibly educated now.”

Andrew rolled his eyes again. “Are you sure you don’t care if I go full nerd?”

“Andrew, I like you because you’re a fucking rhetoric nerd okay? No need to worry.”

“I wasn’t worried.”

“ _Katharsis_ is the purification and purging of emotions—particular pity and fear—through art or any extreme change in emotion that results in renewal and restoration. Basically, it was a metaphor used in _Poetics_ , comparing the effects of tragedy on the mind of a spectator to the effect of a cathartic on the body.”

“So what does this have to do with the movie?” Neil asked.

“Okay, so you’re full of emotions, ostensibly, correct?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, so you need to open the drain sometimes. Aristotle says that good art, good poetry, good performances are supposed to have an element of catharsis. Some element that unlocks that for you so you can purge your emotions and be a better, more well adjusted person for having experienced it. And apparently, the Hamlet-esque death of Mufasa does that for you.”

“You’re such a fucking nerd, I think I’m falling in love with you.”

“But I haven’t even taken you out for the 2 for $20 at Chili’s…”

“Oh my god, bye.” Neil hung up, laughing, but he really was looking forward to their date that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tell me what you think. Do you feel smarter for it? This is my way to have a nerdy podcast without having a nerdy podcast.


	3. Katharsis in Action

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little break from my capstone/thesis thingy because it's killing me. Draft one is due Wednesday and my professor thinks I'm going to fail :) she hates me. Enjoy!

Neil was going through his tarot cards when the doorbell rang.

He stepped into his shorts and sprinted down the hall, opening the door to see Andrew looking devastatingly handsome on Neil’s front stoop. Andrew looked more attractive than he had any right to. Neil almost told him just that, but Andrew looked at Neil over the top of his glasses critically.

“Are those fucking jorts?”

“They’re jeans?”

“Jean shorts. Jorts.”

“I mean, I didn’t buy them like this. I ended up cutting a pair of jeans when they got too worn down,” Neil defended himself.

“That’s worse. Walk back inside,” Andrew ordered.

Neil rolled his eyes and swung the door open wider for Andrew to walk inside.

“Lead the way,” Andrew said, gesturing ahead of himself.

“I can’t believe you’re making me change.”

“I’m doing more than that. We’re dropping off all of your jorts and light wash jeans at the thrift store on the way to the drive-in.”

Neil hid a secret smile but complained loudly. “I can’t believe you can’t accept me as I am. You know that I was warned against men like you. Men who would try to change me once I got comfortable with them.”

“The difference is,” Andrew said, yanking Neil’s drawers open, “is that I’m doing this before our first date. I don’t want to change you. I want to change your clothes.” He started throwing clothes out over his shoulder.

Neil protested when he saw shirts being added to the pile.

“Hey! Those are my shirts, you said nothing about shirts.”

Andrew leveled Neil with an intense glare, holding up one of the offending shirts. “This shirt has a giant hole in the collar.” He poked his entire hand through to demonstrate. Andrew went back to his work, leaving Neil to grumble.

“I can’t tell you how many times I fantasized about this while you were in my class,” Andrew told him moments later. “That I would be able to throw away so many of your clothes. This has to be the best first date ever.”

“Are you whatever the opposite of a hoarder is?” Neil asked, the accusatory tone making his voice thick.

“If I were a hoarder, I promise you it would only be pleasant things. Your jorts can burn for all I care. I promise we’d never find a use for them. Now go put this on.” Andrew shoved dark clothing into Neil’s arms.

Grumbling as he went, Neil headed into the bathroom. When he finally unfolded the clothes that he had been given he squawked and protested.

“These aren’t even my clothes!” Neil shouted over the sound of Andrew yanking Neil’s metal hangers across the metal rod in his closet.

“I didn’t predict you had anything appropriate to wear, so I brought something I got for you.”

“You don’t even know what size clothes I wear. These are too small.”

“You’re a medium but you pretend you’re a large, but I don’t fucking know why.”

Andrew had given Neil a tight fitted cable-knit sweater in a dark grey and a pair of black jeans that had the outline of a pack of cigarettes in the back pocket. They were worn in the nicest way and he figured that he had a pair of shoes that would go perfectly with it somewhere in the back of his closet. He stepped out of the bathroom and Andrew thrust a pair of black boots into his arms before throwing a pair of socks at Neil’s head.

“Are these pants used?” Neil asked, thinking about the back pocket.

“Yes. I only buy my boyfriends things. You’re my date, so you’re getting my clothes from ninth grade,” Andrew informed him.

“I feel slightly insulted that I’m getting your clothes from like 10 years ago because that means you are a fucking hoarder.”

“I told you, I only hoard good things. Besides, I assumed I’d slim down and be able to fit in them again. I just have no concept of how bodies work. Those used to be my favorite pants.”

“Andrew, I don’t think you understand how beefy you truly are.” Neil had to sigh whenever he thought about it.

“Beefy. Pudgy from all of the ice cream. Whatever you want to call it. They don’t fit me, so they’re yours now. If this date goes well, I’ll take you shopping after the movie because I’m getting rid of all of your clothes.”

“All of my clothes fit in one duffel bag. Don’t act like it’s some massive pile of shit that I bought. I’ve had those clothes forever.”

Andrew gave a long-suffering sigh. “I know you have, which is even sadder because I know that you were even tinier than you are now.”

“Please do not shame my skeleton body!” Neil laughed. “At least I have an ass.”

“You say that like I don’t, also, have an ass.” Andrew rolled his eyes but he gestured toward the front door for Neil to lead him back out.

Neil led him through the small house he rented with five other guys. Neil’s bedroom was the reimagined office and was four steps down the hall from the front door. Matt, Jeremy, Seth, Kevin, and Jean were all at an ultimate tournament and wouldn’t be home until the party after, more likely than not, so Neil locked the door behind him, even though it wasn’t a habit.

Andrew had a trash bag full of Neil’s clothes thrown over his shoulder that he tossed into his backseat before sliding behind the wheel. Neil walked around the car, making a quip just loud enough for Andrew to hear over the roar of the engine igniting.

“Didn’t hold the door open for me. Tsk tsk. Strike one, big boy.”

When Neil got a handle on the door, Andrew did that thing that all jackass drivers do in the movies, where the roll three feet forward when the passenger puts their hand on the door. It was just enough to yank Neil’s arm the slightest bit before he launched himself backward, hissing in protest.

Neil opened the door. “Fuck off, Andrew. This is supposed to be a date.”

“Then get in the car so we can go.”

Andrew lit a cigarette and held it in his left hand while he turned the right hand up on top of the gearshift, encouraging Neil to take his hand. Andrew pressed a knee to the steering wheel while he drove out of Neil’s neighborhood, Neil complaining the whole time.

After they had dropped off Neil’s clothes at Goodwill, Andrew drove them over to the drive-in movie theater. He meticulously turned the dial to the right station before looking over at Neil.

“Are you mad about the clothes?” Andrew asked.

“What? No. I just like to give you shit. It’s not like Matt hasn’t been stealing my clothes one article at a time, so I’m forced to go buy something new. I’ve been meaning to do it and I think it would be fun to go with you.”

“I did just decimate your entire wardrobe, but I will take you to get clothes after this. I wouldn’t leave you without.”

“I know. Besides, you gave me the ticket so I get the tax write off.”

“Neil, those clothes are going to be made into rags,” Andrew laughed.

Andrew’s laughter was contagious and soon Neil was laughing with him. “I’ll write off rags then.”

The movie started and Neil looked over at Andrew. The glow of the screen was just bright enough to show Andrew’s face in the dim light, he was pulling a plastic grocery bag out of the backseat.

“Got enough candy, you fucking weirdo,” Neil teased.

“No.” The severe tone was enough to make Neil snicker.

The projector blinked in front of them with the cheesy little countdown.

“Oh boy, I can’t wait to get my _katharsis_ ,” Neil said. “I love to cry.”

“ _Katharsis_ doesn’t always mean you’re going to cry, but shh, the movie is starting.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up next (read: after my fucking paper is turned in) clothes shopping and the Greek notion of the Ideal Man ;)


End file.
